


Long Live The King

by laughingatlemons



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: ...ish, M/M, Royal guard au, Slow Burn, The Twilight Realm, Twili - Freeform, autistic zant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingatlemons/pseuds/laughingatlemons
Summary: In all his years of being the guardian of the Twilight's Monarch, none had stood out to Ghirahim as much as Zant did.(may update sporadically)





	1. Doves

At the time, Ghirahim doesn’t understand the overwhelming wave of grief that he’s experienced from the people whenever a Ruler of the Twilight died. Such strong emotions over death, an inevitable part of life, are something he can’t comprehend. He’s had to face so many deaths across his millennia of life and they never shake him from his duty as the royal guard, not for a day. Such things are a waste of time, he believes.

As the funeral plays out in front of him, he remains stone-faced. Somber people pass in front of him, paying their respects to the dead ruler, and all he feels is a strange vacancy, being at a public event without a ruler to guard. A few of the palace guards are even tearing up, and he tries his best not to visibly sneer. He starts to get bored. He’s only attending this out of tradition and obligation, so instead of paying any mind to the actual events, he watches the little black squares floating through the air, flecks of an unknown magic. They’re more interesting than the masses around him bawling.

The remainder of the funeral proceeds as it always does: the royal guardsman performs the ceremonial sendoff, some final words are said, and the crowds disperse. A few of the royal staff begin discussing the election for the next ruler. Ghirahim sighs; when he doesn’t have a ruler to guard, he’s expected to help maintain the palace. He follows the grey-paved path back home. The blue lines light up in response to his magical signature, and a platform raises off the floor when he steps into the palace. A stillness always hangs in the air of the palace, excepting the occasional keese that somehow gets stuck inside. It seems abandoned, though everything is well-kept. Ghirahim allows the platform to take him to the entrance of the past rulers’ hall. As the platform sinks back into the floor, he steps into the hall and is faced with the boring eyes of so, so many past rulers.

Ghirahim stands back and looks towards the wall of portraits. One can see the evolution from demon to twili in the features of the rulers, an evolution Ghirahim has personally undergone. He leafs through his memories of each ruler, from the beginning when he was entrusted with the safety of the Twilight Realm’s monarchy by one of his close friends, up until this day where the most contemporary ruler is newly dead. To him, it seems only a while ago that he and many others, Hylian, demon, and otherwise, were banished to this realm as interlopers for working with a powerful magic the goddesses and the light spirits deemed dangerous and volatile. So much time has passed that not only have the people evolved so much, but Ghirahim has adapted to a new life. His rage and his bloodlust slowed, and he is no longer the same war machine he was; he’s taken on a calmer disposition, but if provoked, he isn’t opposed to unleashing that hell he used to wreak so much. His thoughts over how his life had progressed up until here are interrupted by a voice.

During his period of self-reflection, one of the palace staff had arrived, looking to speak with him for a moment. They seem scared, but they speak strongly to Ghirahim. “King Vitpaln left something to you, specifically, in his will,” they hold out a small pendant, notably unenchanted. Ghirahim takes it and inspects it; all it is is a small diamond-shaped piece of twilight pewter on a chain. It doesn’t shine or glitter brilliantly. Quite possibly the least of the gifts he’s received from his rulers. “I apologize for bothering you.” The skittish individual waves goodbye and leaves quickly. Ghirahim merely turns back to the wall of portraits, clutching his new treasure with a look of distaste. This king was not a favorite of his. Stern, selfish, and took himself far too seriously. Impossible to crack. Ghirahim found it well reflected in his portrait. Taking a last glance at the wall of familiar faces, Ghirahim departs to place the new trinket among his treasures left to him from previous rulers.

The royal guardsman enters his quarters and tosses the pendant on a pile of assorted pieces of jewelry and some swords, among other random items left to him. He hasn’t seen his own quarters in so long due to his duty in guarding the king at all hours of the day (granted, his quarters practically function as storage at this point). He takes a moment to consider his treasures: jewels on chains, unique twilight forged swords, various other tokens of gratitude from those he’d served. They serve as a nice memento, but the sentimentality was lost on him. His rulers always seemed to have a closer bond with him than he with them. He dismisses the thoughts and takes to his pile of jewelry. With a quick change of earrings (from a small red octahedron to a blue teardrop shape) and an undressing, he lies down in his bed for the first time in a near-century, and attempts to sleep. Sleep never greets him, but the night passes regardless.

The next week or so passes the same, with the palace staff serving as the temporary monarchy as the next ruler is chosen by the people. Ghirahim tidies the palace a tad, but primarily takes time to himself, hoping to sleep or at least have his guard down for a couple hours. He has no part in organizing the election of a new monarch, so if the palace is clean, he’s able to avoid doing anything during this time. These respite days are strange to him, but he welcomes them rather readily. All he must do is listen to the buzz of the royal advisors’ discussion of the election echoing through the palace. 

However, his break time comes to an end eventually. The buzz escalates to a slight clamor as the news about the election spreads. People begin transporting some of the new ruler’s stuff into the palace, others begin double-checking that everything is prepared. The day after the clamor starts, someone drags him from his quarters suddenly to meet the new prince that he’ll have to follow around constantly. Apparently the prince had arrived already and Ghirahim should have been waiting at the door before he showed up.  
In the entrance room of the palace, the elected monarch stares around at the sheer scope of the room. Faint sounds of awe come from him as he gawks, and the staff that are newly his relay information and make their introductions. Whether he actually absorbs any of this information over his amazement is debatable. Ghirahim arrives a moment after the prince regains his ability to focus, and thus the prince focuses on him. The guard steps forward and bows, then straightens up to properly introduce himself with his ordinary script.

“I am your personal guard, Ghirahim. It will be a pleasure to serve you.”

The prince straightens his posture as well, his face falling flat and unreadable. “I am Zant. I’m certain it will be a pleasure.” He speaks, with as much regal grace as a newly-elected prince can muster. He does have a general regal appearance to him, though his face is flushed, strange when juxtaposed with his apparent confidence. Ghirahim disregards it and continues.

“I shall accompany you throughout the palace-- this statement is a general statement and does not only apply to this time. It’s my job to keep an eye on you.” Ghirahim continues with his script dryly. A nod of understanding comes from Zant, and he resumes his exploration of the palace with the rest of them. Ghirahim follows behind as he contemplates the new prince and what this one will hold for him.


	2. Flowerbud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hinald" is a Twilit honorific akin to "Your Majesty" or the like.

As Zant gets adjusted to the life of a prince, Ghirahim comes to feel this prince is going to be better than the last. All he’s been is courteous. Ghirahim quickly adjusts to finally being treated with respect again, and he grows to appreciate Zant’s smile, calm and split at the ends. It’s a refreshing contrast to the frown Vitpaln always wore, and to the sullen faces from Vitpaln’s mourning subjects. Zant always greets him in the mornings, and generally acknowledges him-- better than some of his predecessors.

Each day passes without errors. The prince often sits on the throne reading, and Ghirahim stands by, not even bothered by the immense silence. This silence is not tense or pressing, it’s merely peaceful. Zant occasionally asks Ghirahim something-- “Could you retrieve one of the servants for me?”, “Do you know the time?”, “Are you well today?”. Ghirahim’s answers are short and dutiful, though the consideration feels nice. Generally, the rulers are always less professional at the beginning, so he’s accustomed to it, but it’s been so long since someone was kind to him like this.

Eventually, the questions are different. They shift from the ordinary small talk to more scholarly questions. This change starts out of seemingly nowhere, late into the evening, when Zant shuts his book loudly, earning Ghirahim’s attention, and he shifts towards his guard. Ghirahim perks his ear up and turns to his prince, and as he’s about to ask what Zant needs, Zant asks him an unusual question.

“What was the Twilight Realm like, at the beginning, when the Interlopers were here?”

Ghirahim blinks a couple times, out of a slight confusion as to why the prince was asking him this, and so casually. A clear eagerness lies in Zant’s mien as he waits for Ghirahim’s response. The guard straightens his cape and brings forth the memories of those old, old times. He perhaps misses them a bit, but it’s not his job to become sentimental over the passage of time. The ruler has asked something of him and he must respond.

“What do you wish to know, my prince?”

“Anything. I’d like to hear about the past from an eyewitness.” He rests his hands on one arm of the throne. Ghirahim closes his eyes and tries to pinpoint his memories from the time period Zant inquired about, and to think of some way to talk about them. All he can think of at first is feelings, faces, sensations, glimpses, moments. His friends, his colleagues. Those damned light spirits and the goddesses they worked for.

“We were, as you likely know, a group of people working for our own powers and the like. We developed great magic, from the contribution of demons, Hylians, Gerudo, even a few Sheikah… We were innovators, we were a powerful people. Us ‘interlopers’. The goddesses viewed our endeavours as a lust for dominion. And, truthfully, for some of us, it was. With that, the goddesses decided to intervene. They took our work, they took us prisoner, they dumped us indiscriminately into this new world. A world designed to make us suffer. Our light was gone. Things didn’t grow, everything was designed as hostile and uncomfortable. Our motley people--” he hesitates for a moment, remembering the infighting that gave him his role, “--the different peoples that were banished here, we at first were angry. At the goddesses and at each other. Tensions were high, especially after a friend of mine claimed leadership. Hence the need for a royal guard,”

He pauses and looks back toward Zant. The prince is looking on intently, and Ghirahim’s certain that his ears would be perked if not for his hood. He looks forward quietly as he realizes he had rambled quite a bit. Zant remains attentive for a few more moments before it sinks in that Ghirahim has stopped speaking. 

“Hum. That’s incredibly interesting, and I believe that provides nice insight into the true feelings of the people at the time-- perhaps you can tell me more some other time? I believe it’s about time for me to retire for the night.” His words are said with a more formal air to them than the question that prompted the tirade. Zant slowly stands up from his throne. Ghirahim nods and looks over the prince. He hasn’t the slightest why Zant is so intrigued by his storytelling, but the look in his eyes definitely said he was deeply involved in hearing about it. What a strange prince, Ghirahim notes, bemused. 

“Yes, hinald, whenever you wish.” Ghirahim smiles and twitches his ear. He watches intently as Zant picks up his book and nods towards the exit of the throne room. His golden shoes clink against the floor as he leaves, and Ghirahim follows him out. The twili ruler heads to his quarters, the two exchange “good night”s, and Ghirahim sits right in front of Zant’s door to guard while he sleeps. He’s left to his thoughts, with the memories of his times as an interloper still fresh after Zant’s question brought them back up. They mull in his mind overnight, along with the image of Zant’s face so clearly interested in his stories. He’d never really seen one of his rulers so involved in anything he wanted to say.  
The days immediately following are more interesting than before; Zant asks him about the first ruler, the mysterious Fused Shadow, the goddesses and the light spirits, and he answers with a similar passion to the first tirade he went on. And Zant always wears that expression of utmost attention.

Ghirahim soon learns that Zant’s intrigue comes from a profound love of their history. He had been studying history for a long while before being elected to the throne, but as he says, “no texts could match the passion in your voice and the look in your eye”. He also claims to like having multiple sources of information with different biases and viewpoints. Ghirahim thinks it laughable that he’s ended up not only as this man’s guard, but as this scholar’s toy. Once, Zant jokes about needing a pen and paper to scribe down Ghirahim’s musings about one of their most infamously short-tempered rulers, and another time he talks for an eternity about his favorite ruler from his studies. Over time, Ghirahim finds himself more and more engaged in what he speaks about. 

Listening to Zant’s recounts of what he has learned in old twilit texts and comparing them to Ghirahim’s own memories of the events becomes a common occurrence in the throne room when Zant had generous amounts of free time. They still refer to each other in formal terms, but their conversations flow casually and comfortably. They’re always centered around a historical figure or event, however. Their bond grows over a few months from their mutual knowledge and interest in the situation, one’s personal and one’s scholarly. And thus, their conversations wander into the realm of the personal.

“Ghirahim,” Zant starts, quietly, “what was the light world like? Do you miss it?”

His voice holds a lovely, low cadence of sincerity, but it’s another thing that catches Ghirahim off guard yet again-- a question about his past. Or, rather, his feelings, but it’s all the same; Zant has never before inquired about who Ghirahim is as a person. He clears his throat.

“It was… different. Colorful. I don’t miss it excessively, but I suppose I find myself becoming nostalgic.” He mentally stumbles, trying to remember how everything used to be. When he wasn’t who he is now. “Different is honestly the best way I know how to describe it. It was brighter, more colorful, more bountiful… and yet I would not prefer it over where I stand today, with my status and with a prince to protect.”

Zant gives a nod of understanding. His face is dark, for a moment, something flaring behind his orange eyes. The fire then shifts to a warmness after a few moments, and he offers Ghirahim a smile. “It’s nice to hear that, Ghirahim. I quite appreciate you too.” He sits back in the throne and laces his hands together calmly, still smiling softly. “Your stories are always so interesting,” he adds, trailing off, although he’s reiterated it several other times throughout their talks.

“I’m glad to hear that too, hinald, and I enjoy your input.” Ghirahim gives a lopsided grin back. His gaze shifts forward, off Zant, and the sound of their thoughts, their mutual silence, fills the room. 

“Do you think I would have enjoyed the light world, had I been born there?” 

“I believe people either naturally come to love whichever land they grow in, or don’t have the knowledge of other places to truly appreciate where they grew like an outsider would. Biases are all too natural, my prince.” He laughs a tad. His own biases prevented him from giving any further description of the light world, and for what reasons? He wasn’t sure. Zant’s sonorous laugh responded to Ghirahim’s own.

“You’re far too wise, Ghirahim.”

“It tends to happen when you’ve been around for this many millennia.” he lightly jokes. Their conversation fades out as someone comes to retrieve Zant for dinner, and Ghirahim realizes the smile on his face. This prince has, thus far, proven himself better than the last.


	3. Faceted

“Say, Ghirahim, shall I buy you yet another pair of earrings, or are the 43 pairs you have enough?”

The prince’s sarcastic quip is met with a half a snort from his guard. He places the pair of earrings back down on the merchant’s table, and Ghirahim takes another glance toward him before shuffling through some of the other wares they were selling, still grinning a bit from Zant’s joke. Jokes have become the currency in their exchanges as they have grown closer. Ghirahim enjoys Zant’s clever snarking, and the little grin that lies on his face when he says something funny.

The two have gone out to the market in a town nearby the palace, since Zant was beginning to get a bit antsy, and spending time together was one of their favorite things. Ghirahim had also missed the slight bustle of town. People gawk at the prince a bit-- he is, after all, the prince! The previous king didn’t come out much in his final years as he became frail, so this was possibly the first time many had seen royalty in their district. Ghirahim receives the typical mix of smiles and glares from the people; they’ve never had a uniform opinion on him, but most everybody believes he’s to be trusted with the ruler’s safety. Whether he’s to be trusted in any other way is still a controversial topic among the people. Either way, nobody dares to speak against him.

The shopkeeper makes conversation with Zant while Ghirahim noses around their collection of rings. Some were enchanted to appeal to the Twili’s magic sense, while others were just subtle, simple bands. While this merchant sells some interesting things (earrings were a rarity among Twili, since they typically wore hoods), nothing in particular catches his eye, so he turns back toward Zant. Zant is just finishing his conversation with the shopkeeper when Ghirahim situates himself at his side. The prince jolts a bit in surprise and greets him softly.

“Ah-- Ghirahimha, hello.” He tacks the honorific suffix onto Ghirahim’s name, and it adds a weird formality to their situation that hasn’t been truly there for months. Ghirahim furrows his brow at that, but he doesn’t question him; perhaps it is Zant’s way in front of the people. He may believe the people would disapprove of their friendship, which wouldn’t be an unreasonable belief, given the public’s opinions of him. Zant’s smile is wide, though, regardless of his tone, with his eyes contently closed, which does reassure him. Something about him feels wrong, though.

“Hello, your highness.” He nods to Zant. Zant tucks his arms into his sleeves discreetly. Something in his demeanor is unsettling; he’s stiff and obviously a little uncomfortable. It takes him several moments to speak again, and it sounds empty when he does.

“Can we return to the palace?” His voice is near a whisper, but Ghirahim promptly nods. Whatever’s afflicted the prince can be addressed when they’re back home. The guard grabs onto his companion’s sleeve and begins maneuvering out of the market. Zant stays silent the entire time. His silence nibbles at Ghirahim, and he keeps looking back toward him, like he’s scared he might disappear.

Outside of the market, Ghirahim activates the moving platform that bridges the gap between the town and the palace. As the magical floor carries them across the endless abyss, Ghirahim returns focus to Zant. The prince’s gaze is unfocused and he’s standing perfectly still. Ghirahim speaks softly to him, hands hovering above his shoulders.

“Hinald, what’s the matter?” His chest twists a bit with worry. The prince mumbles quietly in response, distant and impersonal.

“Too much… noisy.” He shakes his head and shifts his arms within his sleeves. Ghirahim drops his hands back to his sides and frowns a bit. He isn’t certain how to proceed with this-- Zant’s clearly having a shutdown brought on by the noise of the market. He doesn’t believe he has any experience with these things, though he’s a bit scattered by his concern at the moment. The two of them stand there in silence until they touch down on the palace’s land. Zant watches his feet as he heads inside after Ghirahim, and he starts clicking his tongue-- it startles the guard at first, but he pays no mind to it otherwise.

Zant ambles over to the throne and sits down limply. He shuts his eyes and leans back, arms still concealed in his sleeves. His tongue-clicking ceases, and Ghirahim faintly wonders what he was doing, but it’s none of his concern right now. After a long period of silence (minutes or perhaps hours, Ghirahim didn’t pay attention to the specifics), during which Ghirahim seated himself at the foot of the throne, Zant sits up straight. His eyes seem more attentive; Ghirahim perks his ear up as he notices. The prince sighs a bit and relaxes and rolls his shoulders.

“I apologize for that. It… happens, sometimes. You handled it well, however.” He shuffles in his own sleeves for a moment before pulling his arms out of them. He clutches a small brooch in his left hand. Ghirahim tilts his head at the little trinket; he hadn’t seen Zant pick that up. He also realizes he’s still on the floor, and promptly rectifies it. Once he finishes standing up (and dusting himself off), the brooch is held out in front of him, and Zant is looking at him expectantly.

“I bought this for you,” he says, “while you were looking at the rings. For your cape.” It takes a moment to set in, but Ghirahim’s eyes sparkle like the gem situated in the middle of it as he takes it from Zant’s hand. The brooch resembles the one he used to wear with his sash, when he still wore the garb of a Demon Lord, but the gem is smaller and set in the same pewter as Zant’s armor-like accessory. He runs his thumb over the point in the middle of the gem, taking in its perfection. Zant is smiling softly when Ghirahim looks back up. 

“I-- this is lovely, my prince! How thoughtful of you!” His smile beams. He can’t believe Zant got him a surprise gift, and the fondness on Zant’s face makes him feel warm. Ghirahim returns to looking at the little jewel in his hands, the stone glittering and bright red. Zant just stays with that same grin on his face as he speaks.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He chuckles and folds his hands together. Ghirahim’s core flutters in gratitude. He takes the plain silver diamond brooch off his cape and replaces it with his new gift, his hand lingering over it. The surprise and mild amazement still lingers, and he feels as though this giddy feeling is around to stay. Closing his eyes contently, he thanks the gods for such a good friend as Zant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol ghirahim is denser than the metal hes forged from


	4. Honeybee

Stillness is settled all around the room. Zant is poised and beautiful, kingly in posture and aura, as he poses for his portrait. The painter has been working for well over an hour and Zant has not stirred. His face is calm and neutral. Ghirahim admires his discipline-- until a few minutes pass, the artist turns away from their canvas to mix more of a color, and the prince sticks his tongue out at Ghirahim. Ghirahim returns the teasing expression, his abnormally long tongue hanging out of his mouth. Zant starts laughing loudly, and his face tinges pink. After a moment, an “ahem” comes from across the room.

“Please, your highness, try to sit still…” the artist sounds mildly exasperated, but is clearly trying not to sound like it. The prince takes a moment to calm down and return to his previous pose. His mouth still twitches a bit, but he easily lapses back into that calm and elegant persona.

“Sorry.” He’s still pink in the face, which the artist frowns a little at, but they shake their head and turn to their work nonetheless.

Given nothing better to do, Ghirahim looks over Zant’s face. His slight smile was beautiful, and he had a fine set of features. His gently-ashen lips, his brilliantly-toned amber eyes, his long and angular facial shape, the rune in dark teal adorning his forehead-- he was very nearly the picture of a conventionally attractive Twili. Even without the societal convention, he’d admit there was something in Zant’s look that captured one’s attention. Zant’s future mate must be a lucky person, he muses.

Ghirahim shakes his head once he realizes he’s ogling a bit. That’s not appropriate of a royal guard, he admonishes himself a bit, he needn’t be getting lustful thoughts about the prince. Those days are behind him. He tries to find another way to amuse himself. Nothing around the room seems viable, so he shuts his eyes and begins reflecting on he and Zant’s friendship.

Zant has been an outlier throughout his (thus far short) reign. All of the other rulers had either ignored Ghirahim or just became acquainted with him; never did they really pursue a friendship with him. Zant was amiable and he took the initiative to speak with him. He never considered Ghirahim “just a guard” or the like. Since day one, he’d been courteous, and lately he’d been so thoughtful-- the brooch (which Ghirahim is currently wearing; he takes a second to brush his fingertips over it again) was the first, but Zant had also begun to invite Ghirahim to the dinner table. He politely declined each time-- he hadn’t eaten substantially in millennia and nothing looked particularly appetizing anymore. In fact, after the portrait is finished, there is a formal dinner Zant must attend, and Zant did not hesitate to request Ghirahim’s companionship during it. Generally, the ruler attends this event alone or with their mate, but Zant noted that he’d rather not be alone. He realizes that Zant makes him feel more appreciated than anyone else had in so, so long. He feels like something more than a guard to Zant, he feels like a companion.

The thoughts stew in his head for another long while as he leans back, until Zant taps him on the shoulder. Had he really been lost in his own mind so long?

“They’ve finished, Ghirahim,” he tells him, “Have you fallen asleep?” His brow is raised and he looks almost amused at the prospect of Ghirahim sleeping. Ghirahim fixes his hair in an effort to look composed as he stands up. 

“No, I hadn’t. You know sleep doesn’t come so easily to me, prince. I wouldn’t dare be so careless as to leave you unguarded anyway.” His words are almost a snarky retort in tone, but it’s a true statement-- while not the only factor, his duty does contribute to his insomnia.

“I don’t know. You looked like you were bored half to death. I wouldn’t be surprised if it managed to put you to sleep.” Zant tries to out-snark him, eyes half lidded and his face a smarmy little grin. Ghirahim firmly prods him in the arm, faux-cross at him, and the prince merely laughs. He rubs at his face a little, mumbling about how keeping the same pose and expression so long has left him stiff and a bit achy. Zant begins to head to his quarters and looks back toward Ghirahim. “Thank you for agreeing to accompany me to the dinner tonight.” Ghirahim nods quickly.

“Anything for you, hinald.” Typically, he wouldn’t consider himself obligated to do something trivial like this, but Zant is different. The least Ghirahim could do the repay his kindness is to go with him. When they arrive at Zant’s quarters, Zant excuses himself to get ready for the dinner. Ghirahim thinks it a little strange-- he’s already dressed to the nines for his portrait-- but he’s come to accept a lot of Zant’s eccentricities. Maybe he just needs to refresh himself a second. He leans against the wall next to Zant’s door.

About half an hour passes before Zant’s door cracks back open. He’s still wearing his same attire from the portrait, with his hair and makeup redone. The two of them exchange tiny smiles.

“Are you ready now, my prince? It took you an awfully long time to freshen up.”

“I had to prepare myself for the toll tonight is going to take on me…” He furrows his brow and shuts his eyes a second, but perks back up moments later. “But yes, I’m as ready as I will be.” The prince takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

He reluctantly begins walking, and Ghirahim walks by his side. As they near the dining hall, Zant takes Ghirahim’s arm and hooks it with his own. Ghirahim is mildly surprised by it, but he figures it would make him look like a professional escort for the prince; that’s what he is tonight, anyways-- Zant’s escort. Zant looks straight ahead, and Ghirahim notices his regal, straight posture is back.

Upon their arrival, the Twili nobles and elders sitting all around the table greet Zant, and some of them inquire why Ghirahim of all people is accompanying him. Zant tells them Ghirahim is his “companion”, raising some eyebrows. They don’t press on the matter, though. Zant takes his seat and Ghirahim does as well. The guard looks around at all the aristocrats speaking among themselves, some of their stares boring holes in him and Zant. He leans towards his prince and whispers to him.

“...Did we arrive late? We’re being glared at. More so than I expected.”

“We are a little late, however I believe it’s closer to me being a new ruler who has brought an unusual guest.” Zant looks close to grimacing. Ghirahim pours himself a glass of wine and stares around the room, as a few people try to make conversation with Zant. He refuses food when offered at first, but Zant urges him to eat with the rest of them. Cooked Kargarok isn’t quite as awful and dry as he remembers, but he’d still prefer if it were raw.

The dinner continues, lightly uncomfortable, with an air of obligation. Zant discusses policy with the other attendants, and some of them make personal inquiries to get to know their ruler better. Each question is answered simply or deflected with grace. Ghirahim doesn’t pick up on the nuances of the political discussion; he’s practically trained himself to avoid eavesdropping on the ruler’s business. The table buzzes quietly and Ghirahim focuses on the half-eaten hunk of Kargarok on his plate. What an offense to the bird, to be cooked up like this. Merely out of principle. He reluctantly finishes it, though, so as to not waste it. As he turns his attention back to the other people there, he notices that Zant’s responses to people are beginning to get snappy.

“Hinald,” he addresses the ruler, hoping to remind him to keep it civil. Zant looks over to him and his expression softens. Before Ghirahim has to think up a reason for addressing him, dessert is fortunately brought in, and both of them forget the subject. The sweet hialpali shuts up most of the people around the table.

The rest of the night passes slightly less tensely. The buzz of conversation goes out while everyone has dessert, and any talking is civil. Shortly after the meal is done, the aristocrats begin bidding Zant goodbye and heading out of the palace, and eventually Ghirahim and Zant are left alone, excepting a servant beginning cleanup. Zant lets out an extended sigh, stands up, and begins ambling to his quarters.

“Good night, Ghirahimvig.” He waves to Ghirahim once and continues on his path. Ghirahim teleports to his “post” outside Zant’s door and sets himself to guard for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "vig" is a somewhat affectionate/friendly suffix in twilit. hialpali is Goopy Dessert


	5. Blizzard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact lurona is a gerudo interloper i made up. funeral of the interlopers is a twilit holiday. this has been the twilit cultural lesson in the notes of the day

A pacific moment between the prince and his guard passes a few days after the dinner, the two of them engaged in a quiet conversation, Ghirahim’s arms propped up on Zant’s chair as Zant sits in his library and reads to Ghirahim. The air is filled with a gentle comfort between the two friends. Zant’s speech is soft and his voice echoes a little.

“...the Goddesses commanded her murder, but she stood tall with swords at the ready.” A lilt in his voice sings as he reads. Ghirahim has grown to love it; he and Zant often sit here in the library, enjoying either literature or historical nonfiction together. At times, Ghirahim corrects or clarifies the book’s information, and Zant’s face lights up at him. “Lurona’s bravery is said to be commended as a part of the Funeral of the Interlopers. This is thought to be the reason for the blade symbolism used with the holiday. Other possible reasons include Ghirahim, sword spirit in addition to the Eternal Interloper and the Royal Guard.”

Zant looks to his companion expectantly and Ghirahim raises his brow. A smile lies on his face as he provides his input, anticipating that adorable glow in Zant’s face. “It’s in honor of Lurona. My participation as Eternal Interloper is, ironically, a recent addition.” It is rather sad how that new tradition had taken away some of the glory from someone he’d admired, but it’s funny that not even this “historian” author knew what a holiday celebrated. He shuts his eyes and chuckles a bit at that aspect until he’s cut off suddenly by an unexpected pressure against his lips.

Zant’s lips are on his. This is… new. He doesn’t tense or yank away in shock, but his eyes are wide and the moment seems to drag on with the multitude of thoughts Ghirahim is able to fit in the span of the kiss. Is this perhaps a new custom to show friendship?? He can’t fathom any other reasons-- Zant, having romantic feelings for him? Never had any of the past rulers felt for him, and especially never had they expressed it if somehow they did. It is taboo, unthinkable. But Zant’s lips are pressed against his, nonetheless.

After a few long, baffling moments, Zant pulls away. He babbles apologies and expressions of shock and his face is beet red. Ghirahim’s mind has short-circuited. Nothing feels real and Zant’s words don’t quite sink in. What just happened?? He has to process the situation for a while before he speaks quietly.

“...My prince, I have to ask-- ask you what that was about?” He stammers a bit mid-sentence, and he finds himself still thoroughly perplexed. The implications wring his thoughts. Near immediately, Zant shakes his head, evidently frantic. He takes a few moments to regain his composure (or at least fake it), but when he speaks, there’s a tremor in it, of shame or perhaps fear?

“N-no, Ghirahim, forget it, I was not thinking straight, I--” He sounds on the verge of tears, and he places a bookmark in the tome he read from before throwing it down in the chair in a fluster. He flails his arms a bit. “I-I’m going to my quarters.” Immediately, he almost runs out of the room. Ghirahim is too confused to react very quickly, but he does follow Zant’s trail to his room once it settles a bit.

Once at the door, Ghirahim poises himself to knock and ask Zant for clarification, but he lowers his hand. He shouldn’t contradict the prince, even though he would like to. Plus, he probably wouldn’t get much coherence from him, given his reaction to his own acts. He slides down against the wall outside Zant’s door. Zant doesn’t come back out of his room for the rest of the night, leaving Ghirahim alone with his thoughts and feelings. The sensation of Zant’s kiss buzzes on his lips and unknown feelings buzz in his core. He touches his lips silently. So confusing… 

The next week is tense between the two of them. The prince is nearly silent, any time he addresses Ghirahim he adds on the honorific “ha”, and his face is hard to read. When Ghirahim attempts to speak to him, he seems irritable and unkind, unwilling to make conversation. Ghirahim would be willing to accept having to go back to a strictly formal relationship with the ruler, but he’s not willing to accept losing Zant’s friendship, especially under these circumstances. He keeps trying to be friendly to him, to seemingly no avail. And each night, he sits alone, guarding Zant’s door, with a hand to his lips still trying to figure out what exactly happened. He misses his friend, and this strange flurry of emotions is unwelcome to him. After Ghirahim’s repeated attempts to rekindle their friendship, something finally happens, though not something Ghirahim would have wanted.

“By the dignity of the Gods, Ghirahim, why have you been taunting me like this?! You rejected me outright but since that day you’ve done nothing but flirt! What is-- what’s your problem?!” His outburst ends shakily. It’s rather sudden; Ghirahim merely had asked him how he was. Zant’s reactions to him make more sense, now, but Ghirahim hadn’t intended to flirt at all. Either Zant misinterpreted his actions, or he needed to reflect on them himself.

“Ah- hinald, I… I had no intentions of leading you on!” Something itches in the back of his mind to accuse Zant for starting it-- you were the one that initiated it then dismissed me when I had questions-- but he knows that’s far too rude. Zant doesn’t falter or change in response to Ghirahim’s defense. “I merely was trying to be friendly…”

“What? Friendly? You hadn’t even the decency to tell me you weren’t interested before I embarrassed myself! You just gawked at me like I was out of my mind, Ghirahim!” He frowns heavily. His furrowed brow mars his face, but Ghirahim returns it with his own. He sighs and collects his thoughts to avoid spitting an insult at his prince.

“Zant…” He addresses the prince by his name alone, and likely does not realize what he’s done, “when you kissed me… what did you mean by it?” While he searches for better words, Zant’s eyes widen. He buries his face in one of his hands and lets out a hollow laugh, bitter and devoid of happiness.

“What do you mean, what did I mean by it?! It was a kiss! I don’t go around kissing my close friends just… just for fun! I kissed you because I’m-- I l-- I have romantic feelings for you!” His stammer doesn’t have a bashful effect to it, but rather one that is noncommittal. He’s grown increasingly exasperated, spitting his words with a complaining tonality. “But your reaction led me to believe you were rejecting me! You made me feel like an absolute fool, then you go on acting like nothing ever happened…” With those words, he deflates a bit. Tears start forming in his orange eyes, and he lets out a big, shaky breath. Ghirahim feels an urge to take his face in his hands and wipe the tears from his cheeks when they start rolling down, but he instead loosens his posture a bit more.

“My prince, I was merely confused when you kissed me, and then you didn’t answer me when I had questions. I didn’t intend to reject you.” Although he tries not to be accusatory, his tone ends up a bit angry and bitter. The statement provokes Zant’s ire a bit more.

“Well, how else did you expect me to react? You just… stared at me, and I thought you were bothered or even disgusted by what I did.” He goes silent. Ghirahim pauses to think over his response, noticing Zant shaking in the effort to resist crying.

“...We could set things clear right now.” He slides the suggestion into the conversation, changing his mood rather significantly and suddenly. Zant looks his guard up and down, upper lip twitching as if he were going to snarl at him. Both of them are silent for a while. Zant’s expression remains twitchy, and Ghirahim stands with an eyebrow quirked up, waiting for some form of response. He eventually begins to figure he isn’t going to receive one, so he starts returning to his ordinary watch as guard, until Zant’s hands grab his shoulders roughly.

Zant is kissing him again. He slowly returns the kiss this time, and it lingers for a good moment. Ghirahim pulls away, shifts to make the angle of the kiss more comfortable, and resumes kissing him. In that brief moment they’re apart between kisses, he notices the tears down Zant’s cheeks, the same ones that threatened to fall earlier. A lot of strange feelings course through his core at the taste and feeling of Zant’s lips on his, but he leaves the figuring things out for later, and the acting on them for now. When they separate, Zant looks to Ghirahim, searching his face for answers, and Ghirahim merely smiles back.

“I believe you’ve made yourself very clear, hinald. But you shall tell me how we shall go about this.” Zant’s face is still damp and his breath is warm on Ghirahim’s lips from their proximity. He still seems lost for words as his grip loosens from Ghirahim’s shoulders. In this moment of contemplation, the guard holds his prince and gently butts their foreheads together. “Shall we continue from before, as if that period of awkwardness had never happened? Shall this change our relationship for good?” Hesitantly, Zant holds him as well.

“...I’d like to continue as more than we were.” His voice cracks and he tries to hold back the tears that sting at his eyes again, hopefully tears of joy or merely strong emotion. With a little squeeze of a hug, Ghirahim realizes that he shouldn’t allow whatever these feelings are to get in the way of his duty guarding Zant. He shouldn’t be fraternizing with the prince anyway. But the gnawing feeling of duty is dulled by whatever feelings these are towards Zant, and he lets it happen anyway. It’s the first time in eons he’s even considered letting his guard down a little.

He holds his prince close and hums an affirmative, and they remain that way for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this probably isnt slow burn. long chapter though


	6. Embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i subscribe 2 th hc that the weird slits on zants mouth are pit organs like snakes and they also detect magic along w heat. also warning for some suggestive stuff lol its rly small but.

Eventually, after the prince and guard stand in place for some unknown amount of time, stewing in their emotions, Zant speaks up and looks his guard in the eye.

“Tonight, would you come to bed with me?”

It’s a simple, casual request, but his eyes almost beg for it. Ghirahim’s face turns sly and mischievous.

“Hm, rather forward, aren’t we?” His pits open larger in his big, smarmy grin. Zant smacks him on the shoulder with an indignant squawk. Ghirahim can’t help but laugh, then, and he kisses one of Zant’s red flushed cheeks, the extra heat obvious in that moment. And he just gets warmer at the kiss. “Don’t you believe I must stay at my post, though? Regardless of our relationship, I must not fail to protect you.” His brow furrows a little. Zant lets out a small sigh and puts their foreheads together again. Ghirahim doesn’t wish to ruin the mood, but he cannot neglect his duties. Zant’s voice returns.

“You can protect me just as well from my arms. I believe you have the senses and reflexes for that.” Again, everything in his posture and expression begs, _do not make me be alone tonight_. Ghirahim nods quietly and tries to find his hands to hold.

“I appreciate your faith in me, Zant.” Ghirahim watches their hands rather than Zant’s face. Zant’s fingers fumble when he tries to lace them with Ghirahim’s. Almost unconsciously, Ghirahim brings one of their hands up and leaves a white smudge from his lips on Zant’s dark knuckles. Zant flinches away, and Ghirahim looks to his face for an explanation.

“I think someone is coming. I don’t want anyone to know about this yet.” A small, unspoken apology follows. He wrenches his body from Ghirahim’s to peer down the hall. Ghirahim follows suit. They both greet the offending Twili as they pass, and Ghirahim suggests that Zant head to bed loudly as to appear inconspicuous. 

He goes to his quarters as always, but Ghirahim slips inside this time, like a cat approaching a new space-- inspecting his surroundings and carrying himself low-- which earns a snicker from Zant. Ghirahim hadn’t seen the interior of the room in centuries.

Zant disrobes while Ghirahim is distracted, and the guard catches a glimpse of him. He never realized just how tiny Zant was underneath all those robes. He quickly averts his eyes as to not be caught peeping. Zant covers his body in clothing of shadow magic and invites Ghirahim over to his bed. Hesitantly getting ready to lie with Zant, Ghirahim catches himself fumbling a bit when trying to unpin his cape. Is he really so nervous? It’s not like he’s expected to seduce and ravish Zant, but then again, he’s better at that part than at affection. He keeps on his pants, and sinks into the bed next to Zant. Zant’s long, slender arms pull him against his twiggy frame. His heat blinds Ghirahim’s heat sense. Gingerly, Ghirahim’s muscular arms wrap around Zant in return. Genuine emotional intimacy made Ghirahim act like he was walking on eggshells. He feels Zant’s fingers starting to card through his hair.

“Thank you, Ghirahim.” He doesn’t say the words. Not yet. It’s a simple romance, a trial, without those words, and it melts some of the tension from Ghirahim. Ghirahim tries to trace one of the runes near Zant’s shoulder, but Zant shudders and moves away from the contact. Now from his position he’s got nothing to do but listen to Zant’s heartbeat-- what a strange symptom of being mortal-- and drink in his magic signature. He follows that rhythm, until a little noise startles him. It’s a soft snore.

He lies there, pink eyes glowing and wide open, all night, listening to the out of sync rhythms of Zant’s heartbeat and snoring.

Zant wakes up just as the sky turns red. The first thing he does is press his pits against Ghirahim’s forehead, and Ghirahim realizes Zant drools a lot. It prompts him to shove a hand up between their faces. A grumble comes from the prince as he blinks his eyes open.

“Good morning.” Promptly, he rolls away from Ghirahim and sits on the side of his bed, starting to rub the corners of his mouth to wake up his pits and loosen some of the drool. Ghirahim gathers up his cape and brooch and feels an urge to get out of the prince’s room before he’s caught. It’s an old instinct he’s had from days where he used to get a bit of fun out of the rulers. He slips out as Zant rummages through drawers. From outside the door, he can play off today as it always goes, nothing out of the ordinary except a splotch of saliva on his forehead-- until he realizes he has no reason to want to do so. He can allow something new to come up between them. And so it does.

They share their third kiss right as Zant comes out of his room, and, for the third time, it’s Zant initiating. Ghirahim considers it a pleasant surprise as Zant leans down as soon as he rests eyes on the other. It’s short and sweet, especially since Zant’s mouth still smells of dried spit, and neither of them wish to be caught kissing first thing in the morning.

Most everything stays the same. Ghirahim is still the royal guard, and Zant is still the prince, and they still make small talk in the throne room. However, they steal little chances to be affectionate (mostly Zant), and there’s something warmer in the way they look at each other. They share the bed each night. Ghirahim almost forgets his confusion over his feelings and his duty. “Almost” being the operable word. It scares him, the concept of being in love. He wouldn’t admit it-- what a silly thing to feel fear about, and it’s more apprehension than fear. He’s bound to his duty to protect, and what if his feelings got in the way of that? Feelings and duty hardly mix. The thoughts nag at him in the background, most of the time, but a year or so into their relationship things change and make him think of it again.


	7. Daffodils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vaguely implied and brief sexual content.

Zant asks him to be his mate. Mate, implying marriage is not far off-- mate, making those feelings concrete-- mate, something so much more profound than kissing in private and staying in the same bed. His brain and his mouth betray his core and he says yes. Zant says the words, those that Ghirahim feared so, and confirms it. He says it quietly, face hidden in Ghirahim’s hair, and it takes a while before Ghirahim’s response. He says “You too,” as if avoiding the actual words will make the impact less, as if they’re not about to bond themselves to each other, presumably for Zant’s whole life. The thought of the effect it would have on Ghirahim after Zant’s life is disregarded; he’s always had a habit of procrastinating when it comes to matters with mortals.

And in consummating it that night, it’s confusing and wonderful and simultaneously so familiar-- doing that, being with Zant-- and unfamiliar-- doing _that_ , with _Zant_ \-- and he listens to that hypnotic rhythm in Zant’s chest after he falls asleep to calm himself. He makes himself face the feelings in his core, and he realizes one of his biggest wants, shared in both his duty and his love (he finally feels he should call it that), is the desire to keep Zant close and safe.

Again, a rumbling sound interrupts his listening, this time a sound he knows instinctively as part of being almost-Twili. A raspy, creaky purr. And his instincts try to return it with his own full-sounding purr, but he silences it, still wary of showing such affection, even with his now-mate. The sound of Zant’s purr almost puts him to sleep, and he realizes he’s happy this way, and he is not neglecting his duty. He is still there to protect his prince, formality be damned. He lies there in that realization, repeating it to himself as Zant’s purr rattles through his head. 

Eventually, the purr peters out. Morning rolls back around. Zant wakes up and pushes his pits against Ghirahim’s runes again, but Ghirahim braves the feeling of drool when Zant begins to purr as he attunes to Ghirahim’s signature. They greet each other, and Zant starts leaving kisses on Ghirahim’s face as he starts to wake up. Ghirahim holds back his purr again.

Zant finally announces their relationship to the people that day, met with extremely polarized reactions. Some elders are revolted that Ghirahim would seduce the prince so, or that the prince would choose someone who’s not really Twili. Others are suspicious of Ghirahim, in general, and others still are glad to see Zant with a partner. They stop hiding their affections quite so much, but Ghirahim still stifles his purrs.

Zant eventually asks about him stopping himself from purring. He could hear the strain in his voice to hold back. They are mates-- it is part of the experience. Ghirahim cannot explain the apprehension he feels about his own emotions, but Zant understands, although he remains a bit disappointed.

Over time, Ghirahim begins to purr unabashedly, and he begins to show affection as the urges arise. Little by little, he embraces what it is to love. His core glows under layers and layers of his body, and those words finally come out of his mouth, albeit sparingly. In the smallest voice, between kisses and before bed, once in a while he says “I love you,” and he can see Zant’s face warm. They spend more time than usual in the palace for the longest time, Zant admitting that he’s hiding their affections from the public, but it does not deter Ghirahim, and he urges his mate to return to his usual routine of frequenting the city around the palace.

Ghirahim only holds back his displays of affection as people in the marketplace begin to stare. It becomes a fact of life for those people that the man who has been royal guard for forever is now the mate of the prince. He makes small talk with citizens who inquire about the situation, and in discussing matehood with partnered citizens, he realizes his feelings are dangerously close to that of a mortal’s. ‘Dangerously’. Part of his mind uses that word, but the stronger and larger part of his mind excludes it. He acts as Twili, he’s been a part of this realm’s society the whole time, and he’s starting to embrace how it’s corrupting his demonic nature. That other part of himself is disgusted with the thought, and it makes itself known, but he hides it deep inside himself. He’s begun to think of these Twili as his people, and the two parts of himself both reason that it may be for the best, as he’s got no others. So he speaks to any Twili who approaches him amiably, and he allows himself the luxury of thinking like them, loving like them.

A thought passes through their heads before it comes through Ghirahim’s own, though; if they marry, when they marry, he will be Zant’s king.

Zant brings it up one night as they lie together, scared of the backlash. People are bound to believe Ghirahim seduced him as a way to slide into the throne after all the years of serving the throne. It turns into a proposal as Ghirahim attempts to soothe his worries and Zant begins to contemplate the details of the ceremony instead. While his prince prattles on, Ghirahim thinks about marriage. About how it was before the Twilight Realm-- a whole new step. He thinks about how matehood is now that step, how he rushed into it so, how marriage has become more a public celebration of matehood rather than a true ceremony marking that step, how their marriage would be out of royal tradition rather than a change. He thinks about the scent of jasmine tea; he thinks about how he’s never cared for the traditional marriage beverage.


End file.
